


passion burning, pressure building

by lililiyabbay



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Food as Love Language, Light Angst, Pining, Roommates, Rule 63, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lililiyabbay/pseuds/lililiyabbay
Summary: Minghao thinks many things are better left unsaid, then she looks at Seokmin. Words of shameful devotion bubble up in her chest, make their way to her throat and begging to be let out. She thinks she's right.(Seokmin is perfect and Minghao is enamored.)
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Minor Kim Mingyu/Wen Junhui | Jun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29
Collections: Enduring Dawn Round 1





	passion burning, pressure building

**Author's Note:**

> CW: theyre cis lesbians here. not that it will be described in graphic detail
> 
> written for enduring dawn with prophet by king princess as the prompt. i clearly just ran with it
> 
> special thanks to pri for being the first reader for this & encouraging me always! shes perfect to me
> 
> title from [girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmY8mG4_3j4) by the internet

Minghao throws the damp cloth she just used to wipe the bar, the impact making a disgusting plop sound as it lays dejectedly inside a bucket in the corner. If it’s lucky, someone who is not Minghao will find it and salvage it. Tonight happens to be one of the more unfortunate nights for the napkins, though, because Minghao had to take care of a delirious customer for the fourth time already, and it’s only an hour into her shift. 

“It’s Tuesday, be more understanding,” a disembodied voice says, the person following right after. It’s her manager, already tightening the apron around himself again when she looks at him.

“I’m glad that I’m just covering this shift for Junhui,” Minghao grumbles. “I can’t imagine having this as my regular shift.”

Her manager raises his eyebrows, pursed lips, as if saying _there you have it_. And Minghao will never say it out loud, at least not while she’s at the workplace, but she is so not grateful no matter how she has it better. Junhui is well-equipped for this with her patience and ability to let things pass, while Minghao is not. And she’d rather take back that one call she made to Junhui begging her to cover that one shift, simply because she was ditching work for a hookup that turned out to be rubbish, than to do this ever again. 

For the remainder of the shift, Minghao thinks of home. Her bed when her legs start aching from standing too long, her leftovers that would taste better reheated when her stomach starts rumbling but she can’t take a break because it’s busy, the clean smell of her apartment when she has to wipe yet another customer’s vomit. And lastly, she thinks of her roommate when she has to humor the attempts some gross men made at propositioning her. 

At some point, she turned off her phone because the vibrations were distracting her too much. She has an inkling why a Tuesday night would be this busy, but she still curses it, because she works weekends and it’s never been this hellish. She endures it, tries not to get too hopeful the closer it gets to closing time, because there will always be some pesky customers sticking around, either passed out or just in need of another glass. 

Fortunately, though, her manager is being nice this time, he takes care of the customers while she cleans the bar. Minghao notices, while it’s busier, it’s not any messier than weekends. People do really let loose when they do not have to be accountable the next day. She lounges back while her manager balances the cashier, waiting for his cue to let her go. It’s a habit of hers – staying back, dwelling, when she can easily move forward. 

It’s close to 3AM, and she should really go home, but her manager isn’t doing anything except for counting the cash. And she’s been loitering around for too long that it’s awkward to bid her goodbye, so she sits in silence despising how she makes things so much harder for herself. For no reason.

“Sorry,” her manager says, after what feels like an eternity. She can’t even remember his name, apparently he’s new and she’s never been on the same shift with him before. “That took awhile. Thanks for waiting.”

Minghao shrugs, then receives a quiet question about where she lives. He’s a polite one, which she likes, and she thanks her intuition for compelling her to stay back, because now she’s scored a free ride home. She doesn’t usually blow her money on an Uber ride that costs half her pay in a shift, but walking home right now isn’t ideal either.

During the ride, Minghao learns that his name is Joshua, and that he lives slightly farther away from Minghao’s place. He’s a grad student, not keen on elaborating more about what he’s studying or where he’s going. She knows that he doesn’t know much about her either, only her name and her age, and soon enough, where she lives. But that’s fine, she doesn’t mind. It’s not a huge price to pay.

“We’re here,” Minghao says, needlessly, as they roll in front of her apartment building. Joshua simply smiles, content in his watching her gather herself and exit the car. She grasps the sharp angle of the door, this time not idling anymore, and right before she closes the door, she says, “Thank you. See you.”

She doesn’t watch the car vanish into the streets. No good to linger when security is already eyeing her from the lobby. Once or twice, she might have fallen asleep on her feet in the elevator. She has never been more glad of the dark and slightly dingy hallway of her floor, revealed by the parting elevator doors. 

There is no other feeling aside from relief when she finally unlocks her door and steps through, inhaling a lungful of that clean air smell of her apartment that’s most likely the air humidifier’s doing. What she finds in the living room surprises her, though, because the TV is still on and there is a bundle of blankets on the couch. 

“Seokmin?” Minghao calls out. 

The bundle twitches, then settles. Minghao tries again, telling herself it’s the last time before she drops it. This time, a head with the hair all messed up appears. It seems to be looking for whoever is calling, and when it turns around, Seokmin’s face is revealed. Even in the dark, Minghao can make out the fabric prints on her face. 

“Why aren’t you in your room?” 

Seokmin hums, heavy with sleep, sounding like she wants to say something but her lips are stuck together. “Was waiting for you,” she murmurs, loud enough for Minghao to pick up. 

Minghao eyes Seokmin, who is still trying to gather herself, swallows back the _why_ that she so desperately wants to say. Even under a different circumstance, she’d probably also hesitate on asking nonetheless. It’s weighted in the way that their friendship can’t bear the brunt of it yet. 

“You don’t have to,” Minghao opts to say instead, letting fondness leak into her voice. 

“I want to.” Of course she does. Seokmin yawns, stretches lightly while looking around. “It’s really late, isn’t it?”

Minghao agrees. “I’ll wash up then go to bed in a bit. You should, too.”

She watches as Seokmin rouses from the couch, abandoning the layers of blankets. She doesn’t comment when Seokmin doesn’t pick up the blankets, only waits while Seokmin walks zombie-like towards the direction of her room. She’s rendered rather surprised again, when Seokmin halts before her, blinking her lidded eyes. “Hi,” she says.

Laughter bubbles up in Minghao’s throat before she can stop it. “Hello,” she replies, voice rippling with the shake of her giggle.

It immediately disperses when Seokmin reaches out, to her genuine shock, placing light fingers on Minghao’s cheekbone. “Your eyeliner is all smudged,” Seokmin says, quiet in the way she rarely is. Somehow it doesn’t cut through the silence of their living room, just amplifies its stillness. It’s slightly eerie, and Minghao is nothing if not into everything bizarre. 

She smiles, a small thing, but she’s sure Seokmin catches it even in the dark. “Busy night at work.”

More pressure is given to the touch on her cheekbone, swiping away at what must be the remnants of her eyeliner. Seokmin blinks slowly, eyes trailing after her own thumb. “I’ll let you rest, then,” she says, voice as sweet as her sleepy smile. “Night.”

“Good night.”

Then Seokmin pads her way to her room, leaving Minghao smiling at the empty air. 

The sting on Minghao’s finger is starting to throb, which is annoying. It’s one of those days she had wanted to make lunch for herself, and she ended up cutting her finger. If she’s being fairly honest, her mood truly dampened when she woke up earlier than she should have, thinking of having lunch with Seokmin, and turns out her roommate is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably already off to work, and it’s such a stupid thing to be upset about that Minghao is glad she’s alone in the apartment. 

She makes as much noise as she can while putting her plate on the table, sliding into the seat and ignoring how her shins and knees keep bumping into things. It’s more than a bit cathartic, also it distracts her from the main sting of her cut. She doesn’t bother putting band-aid on it. 

There is a few hours until she has to leave for the studio, and Minghao thinks of what she should do in those hours. The apartment is too empty without Seokmin, leaving her lost and clueless about what to do as well. She sighs, absentmindedly chewing her fried rice while scrolling through her phone. 

A few unread texts from Mingyu is the first thing she opens. 

_I saw an opening for a singing job at ur bar_

_Is that legit? Lol_

_U guys have live music or something right_

Minghao frowns at how random the string of texts are, confusing enough that she stops chewing midway. She checks the time and deems it safe enough to call Mingyu at work.

“What’s up?”

Mingyu sounds like she’s on the move, the sound of air bristling loudly in Minghao’s ear. “ _Hey, I’m at work_ ,” she replies. “ _Seokmin’s not with me, though. I just finished a meeting._ ”

To Minghao’s annoyance, she finds herself wanting to ask more about Seokmin. Then she remembers why she called and ignores Mingyu’s report about Seokmin.

“I wasn’t about to ask for her,” Minghao says. She’s already imagining the dubiety on Mingyu’s face. So irritating. “What was your text about?”

“ _Oooh, right,_ ” Mingyu draws it out until the air stills. A thump. Minghao hears her prattle off the address of her office. “ _Right. Seokmin saw the job, actually. She asked me if I knew anything about it. She’s been singing again._ ”

Now Minghao pauses, her mind grinding to a halt, only to remember the occasional mornings and evenings where she can hear Seokmin sing in the shower. “She sure has,” she mumbles. The conversation somehow ends up being about Seokmin anyway. 

“ _Huh, yeah,_ ” Mingyu says. “ _So? If it’s real, can she sing at the bar?_ ”

Minghao blinks at the air, her brain grasping at the echoes of Seokmin’s high note that tapers off into laughter. “Um,” she says intelligently, “I mean. I’ll see what I can do?”

Stupid. 

“ _Man, that’s awesome. I’ll let Seokmin know then!_ ”

“Sure,” Minghao says, when all she wants to say is _shit! Shit!_

The call ends with a click that breaks Minghao out of her stupor, then she audibly swears. When she tries to call Mingyu again, the line is busy. Minghao doesn’t know why Mingyu has so many people to call suddenly. 

Well, at least now Minghao has something to do to kill time. With a resigned sigh, she flips her phone down and stretches before washing the dishes. Of all people, Minghao doesn’t know why Mingyu is asking her, when there is also Junhui, but she remembers that this is for Seokmin and minds it a lot less. Seokmin is her roommate as well, it makes complete sense.

She really ends up dedicating her free hours to calling her manager, then the bar’s office, then emailing them her concerns and/or inquiry, then she’s referred back to the office phone. It’s grueling. Talking to different, unknown people back to back always has the effect of fraying her nerves. Not unlike if she was a smooth fabric that’s been rumpled and left with creases. It’s worth it, though, because she ends up not only confirming the slot, but also getting the list of requirements that needs to be met. 

The rest of the day is manageable after that, the walk to the studio feeling like a breeze. Minghao is in charge of two different classes, this one she’s working along with another instructor, Soonyoung. The group is mostly low-maintenance, which she likes, where she mostly gives inputs when it’s needed. Soonyoung is the chatty one, so Minghao lets her do that during breaks, while socializing with the students. 

One of the students comes up to her. “Minghao, this is your last month here, right?” 

Minghao can’t remember his name, Soonyoung would, and she can only remember that he’s one of the good ones. She nods, eyebrow quirked. No one usually starts conversations with her unless she initiates it first. She can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on them, ready to intervene at the first sign of Minghao’s discomfort. 

“That’s a shame, I’ll miss you,” he says. Which is sweet, if Minghao has actually had genuine interaction with him outside their sessions. “You’ve been a really great instructor.”

“Thank you,” Minghao supplies. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Soonyoung saves her. An arm is thrown around her, the hand gripping her shoulder as some kind of assurance. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back,” Soonyoung says, with utmost and unfounded confidence. “Let’s wait until she graduates.”

It’s enough to tickle Minghao, but she doesn’t dispute it, only smiles indulgently. She doesn’t know yet what she will do once she graduates, though a teaching spot at the studio is wide and open for her. There are so many things she hasn’t gotten to do yet, and if there is anything her performing arts major makes her sick of, it’s the practice. Juggling both her internship and final project is pure evil, no matter how capable she is, that her bartending job is her only oasis even though her current schedule is running her ragged. 

To the student, Minghao shrugs, keeping her smile on. Soonyoung’s interference, thankfully, diverts the attention from her. After the small chat, Minghao reminds them that the break time is up. A few instructions from Soonyoung and a few suggestions from Minghao later, they resume practicing, the action has already become so familiar that it’s natural.

_minghao are u at the studio haaaiii_

Minghao stares at the text from Seokmin. They rarely text each other, usually opting to call if it’s something urgent, because aside from being roommates, Minghao doesn’t think they’re all that close. She scrolls up for their old texts, the last being Seokmin asking if it’s okay that she makes a spare key, and before that were mostly about groceries, then from when they were yet to become roommates, Seokmin asking about the availability and stuff. 

_Yes I am_ _  
_ _Where are you_

Minghao can’t be sure why she’s asking back, but it sounds like the right thing to say.

 _im nearby!!_ _  
_ _can i drop by?_

There is a one minute interval in which Minghao has to think, like _think_ , why in the world things just keep happening. Never anything predictable, either. 

She’s just finished the class, in the midst of packing up her things when the text came. Now she’s frozen staring at her phone, sitting on her legs that are going noticeably more numb by the second. Shaking her head, she composes her reply, periodically heeding the _thanks_ and _goodbye_ s thrown at her. 

_Sure, I’m done for the day though_ _  
_ _Going home after this_

_cool !! we can go home together_

There is something marvelous in the way that Seokmin’s personality shines through even from her text messages. In her mind, Minghao can vividly conjure up Seokmin’s voice saying the very same texts she sent. Which reminds her about the singing gig.

“Soonyoung?” Minghao calls out, looking up.

Soonyoung is sitting a slight distance from her, leaning against the mirror as she smiles and waves at the retreating students. “Yeah?” she answers, an eyebrow quirked up in question when she looks at Minghao. 

“The musician guy from the music studio above,” Minghao starts, throwing a glance at the ceiling. She finds it funny how Soonyoung mimics her action. “Don’t you know him?”

The whole building is almost like an art center, the only empty spaces used to belong to start-ups that ended up leaving because it gets noisy from the flurry of artistic activities. The top floor is even an auditorium, borrowed a few times either by the dance studio or their neighboring theater community. Minghao hasn’t been there a lot, though, apparently it’s haunted. She only knows that Soonyoung sometimes invites the other tenants that she managed to befriend to see them practicing, including this one musician that helped their group with some of their performance songs. 

Soonyoung seems to ruminate on this pretty seriously. Minghao can’t blame her, she must have many friends. 

“Do you mean Jihoon?” she asks. Minghao shrugs, never really catching the guy’s name in the first place. “The one that helped us with the audio, right?” Minghao nods, too fervently to stop Soonyoung from smirking knowingly. Soonyoung doesn’t know shit. “Oooh, this is new. He’s a composer.”

The ability the universe bestowed on Minghao to keep a straight face in the face of Soonyoung’s wiggling eyebrows is something that will go into her gratitudes journal today. All she wants to do is roll her eyes and click her tongue, but this is Soonyoung, and any hint of her being noticeably rattled is an ammunition for Soonyoung. 

“I was thinking of asking for a favor,” Minghao says. _Not his number_ , she adds internally. “My friend’s a vocalist and there’s this job at the bar, but she’ll need a band. So, I was wondering if your friend can help with that.”

Understanding visibly dawns on Soonyoung, but Minghao knows she doesn’t even regret her previous assumption. Must be peak entertainment for her. “Well, he’s not really my friend,” Soonyoung clarifies, which Minghao seriously doubts, “and I’m pretty sure he can drum. Even if he can’t, I’m sure he’ll know some people.”

Minghao nods. “That sounds good, thank you. I’ll ask my friend first about what she needs exactly and I’ll get back to you then.”

Then she’s back to packing her things up, though it’s getting harder to shake off the unrelenting gaze on her. After she zips her totebag, she looks back at Soonyoung. She’s met by a stare paired with a small smile, and she is very bothered that its meaning can’t be immediately deciphered. 

Right before she cracks and asks a rather rude _what?_ Soonyoung speaks. “You know, this is the first time you’ve ever asked me for something.” It’s so weird to associate Soonyoung’s current expression with thoughtfulness, but Minghao can’t think of anything else. “After like, what, almost five months interning here.”

That sounds ridiculous. “That’s ridiculous,” Minghao points out. Surely she’s done some asking before. 

Noticing Minghao’s rush and keeping her streak of being considerate, Soonyoung lets her go. “You’re not leaving?” Minghao asks. She knows there is one last class for the day, but she didn’t think Soonyoung would be in charge of that as well.

“Substituting,” Soonyoung answers, then lies down. That can’t be sanitary. Minghao also remembers that Soonyoung has been working since morning. 

“How many classes do you have in a day?” Standing up, Minghao stares at Soonyoung staring at the ceiling. It’s only now that she notices she looks exhausted. Her usual unbridled energy covered it so well. “Don’t overdo it.”

Soonyoung grins at her. “It’s fine, I learned how to pace myself.”

 _minghao im outside_ , the text from Seokmin says. Perfect timing. Minghao bids her goodbye and wishes Soonyoung luck. If it appears too hasty, judging by Soonyoung’s curiously raised eyebrow, Minghao tries to not think too hard of it.

She almost sprained her shoulder ramming the door open, then being met halfway by the sudden rush of wind. It’s chilly. She feels a stare on the side of her face, and she turns to its source. 

Seokmin is leaning on the wall, face paused on an uncertain smile. “Hello,” she says.

“Hi.”

The smile blooms.

“How was your day?” Seokmin pushes herself off the wall, making her way to where Minghao is rooted to the ground. Why hadn’t Minghao approached first? 

“Good. Tiring.”

“Fulfilling?” Minghao almost mirrors the way Seokmin tilts her head. They start walking away from the building, steps in tandem. 

Minghao considers the question. “Yeah,” she answers resolutely. “What about you?” 

Seokmin’s answer comes easy in turn. “It was exhausting! I had to see a lot of people, and I was really nervous—it was my first time without Mingyu by my side,” she rambles on, voice ringing out pleasantly in the air. How she can talk until the last of oxygen in her lungs runs out impresses Minghao. Nonetheless, Minghao is not any less interested. Seokmin’s voice is pinched when she finishes with, “that’s about it.”

“I see,” is all Minghao can say, though she wants to say _more_ , but she’s stuck with her inability to put it into words. How she cares about who Seokmin met today, that she did many interesting things, how she learned about new things. 

Seokmin smiles as if she knows anyway. She probably does. “Anyway, I heard from Mingyu that she talked to you?”

“She did.” Minghao nods. “You need a band, right?”

A sheepish smile, like she got caught, overtakes Seokmin’s face. “I do… I was thinking of reaching out to my high school friends. We were in band together back then, but I’m not sure if our schedules would align. Or if they’re still in town at all.” 

This, Minghao understands. Not even because she herself uprooted her life and flew out of the country to pursue dance, but she knows how easy it is to be losing touch with the people she used to be friendly with.

“There is a music studio above mine, I asked my friend if she can ask around,” Minghao says. “If it works out, we can arrange something?”

It doesn’t mean to come out as a question, but Minghao can’t really take it back. The more words she said, the more she could see Seokmin’s eyes widen and sparkle. 

They have to halt in their steps when Seokmin skids to a stop and takes Minghao’s hand in hers. Oh no, Minghao can’t possibly deal with this.

“Minghao!” Seokmin shouts, almost screeches really. “You are unreal. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She pulls Minghao into a crushing hug. 

For a second, it’s warm, Seokmin’s sweet perfume filling her lungs. The next, something heavy collides with Minghao’s spine. “Ow,” she says eloquently.

Seokmin pulls back, panic now paints her face. “Oh, god, I’m sorry!” She fervently rubs the sore spot on Minghao’s back. Only when Minghao tells her it’s okay, she then drops her hands. 

In her grip, dangles a paper bag. Minghao didn’t notice it before. 

Seokmin quickly explains. “Candles. From the event. Wanna burn some later?”

Minghao nods, complacent. This semblance of peace is ruined when Seokmin, rather aggressively, pulls Minghao’s arm to link her own with it. This might be the closest they have ever been with each other, their sides all pressed up against one another.

This is fine. Minghao does this all the time.

Chattering into the night, mostly done by Seokmin, they walk the rest of the way home.

Minghao is anxious. Rightfully so, in her opinion. Today she will be having Seokmin over at the studio, to properly introduce her to Soonyoung first, before they can meet the Soonyoung’s musician friend’s… friends. Minghao has no idea how things are going to work out, but she wants the best possible outcome, and she internally chants that over and over — affirmation? The law of attraction? — until Seokmin calls her to say she’s here. 

In Seokmin standards, this is early. Minghao tells her to come up since no one is here except for her and Soonyoung, anyway, so it’d make her job easier. Though, is it a job if she’s doing it voluntarily and she doesn’t hate it?

Soonyoung’s eyes are on her all the while, whose stare she doesn’t reciprocate, because she is trying to _think_ , which is stopped abruptly when the door opens with a creak and Seokmin is here.

“Hi,” Minghao says. Her insides are going to implode on itself. “You made it.” Though there is no single reason why Seokmin couldn’t have made it. She pats the space next to her thigh. “Sit, sit.”

The weight of Soonyoung’s gaze shifts onto Seokmin, and instead of relief, Minghao feels knots forming in her stomach. _Relax_ , her mom would say, whenever she noticed her pinched expression, _you’re thinking too much_.

No thinking, yes.

Bad idea. Because somehow in the course of Minghao trying to calm herself down and sorting out her thoughts into more manageable increments, Seokmin and Soonyoung are already joking around like old friends. Dealing with them separately is headache-inducing enough, and Minghao regrets not being able to foresee this possibility.

“Soonyoung,” she calls out softly, when the raucous laughter is fading into hiccups. She wishes she knew what was so funny. “When is your friend coming?”

“Jihoon said…” Soonyoung trails off, swiftly checking her phone. Right, his name is Jihoon, it’s important that Minghao remembers. “Last he said he’ll be here in, like, ten.”

“And when was that?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

Someone raps on the studio door from outside. Another knot forms at the base of Minghao’s throat. Shouldn’t Seokmin, of all people, be nervous about this? Minghao can’t reason why it’s her fretting more about this. She watches as Soonyoung pushes herself up to answer the door, but curiously, she stays there in the crack of the opening door. 

“False alarm,” Soonyoung says, grinning when she turns around. It’s the delivery for the chicken they ordered earlier. Minghao only remembers ordering Seokmin’s favorite. “Jihoon’s gonna be a bit late, probably. You guys don’t have to be anywhere else soon, right?”

Minghao can’t be sure about that, thinking about the text Joshua sent her earlier. She might be needed for an emergency shift, but she hasn’t heard back after that last text. Just in case, though, “Actually…” she starts, pulling Seokmin’s and Soonyoung’s attention towards her. “I’m not sure yet, but I might need to go to the bar.”

It’s quite overwhelming, having two pairs of pleading eyes on her. They both look sympathetic and a shoe drop away from begging her to stay, like she’s already got one foot out of the door. 

“Soonyoung,” a muffled voice calls from behind said door, “it’s Jihoon.”

Well, shit. That successfully diverts the attention from Minghao, though Seokmin scoots closer to her, fingers loosely circling her wrist. Minghao doesn’t think she can handle this. There is no reasonable excuse to slip out of it, especially when she can feel Seokmin shifting slightly behind her, her hesitancy towards strangers showing. 

Jihoon, as it turns out, is pretty friendly to anyone that is not Soonyoung. He comes alone, but he promises his friends are going to catch up soon. Warming up to Seokmin is easy, too, which Minghao can’t blame him for. They start talking about genres and music and everything and Minghao doesn’t completely follow the topic, only revels in Seokmin’s voice when she answers and makes excited sounds. 

Minghao vaguely understands that from time to time when Jihoon would mention something, Seokmin would blank out and think really hard. For some reason, the sight of her frowning when she can’t find an adequate response wrongs Minghao. “Well, it’s fine, isn’t it?” It’s the first time Minghao speaks since introducing herself to Jihoon. “You can help her out, right?”

It must be quite the surprise to everyone, even Seokmin, because Minghao can feel her gaze on the side of her face. Now that it’s out of her mouth, Minghao regrets it, more than a little. It sounds too demanding, considering they haven’t come up with a mutual agreement yet, much less talk about the terms of which Jihoon is willing to assist Seokmin. She should’ve brought Mingyu along for this.

Fortunately, while everyone is gaping at Minghao, Seokmin breaks the awkward air with a soft laugh. “I can just learn new things as I go along,” she says. A hand settles on the middle of Minghao’s back, warm and heavy. “My friend’s a bassist, he can help fill in for the bass. But aside from that, I’m kind of helpless.”

That sets the trajectory of the conversation, at least, relieving Minghao a great deal. Jihoon checks with Seokmin more thoroughly, though this time with extra cautious glances thrown Minghao’s way. Right on time, Minghao’s phone vibrates with a call. From where Seokmin is pressed on her side, it seems she feels it ringing as well, because she pulls away from Jihoon’s question and looks at Minghao. There is inquiry and unease in her eyes, and Minghao can feel the knots in her body drawing tighter. 

Minghao is incredibly clumsy under so many eyes, fumbling with her phone to answer the call. Oh, so it’s Joshua, and he’s calling her in for today. Pointedly, Minghao tries to not make eye contact with Seokmin no matter how close they are together. 

“I need to leave,” Minghao announces to the room, ignoring Seokmin’s whine. She looks at Soonyoung, thinking _please take care of Seokmin please be good to her_ , and when Soonyoung gives her a thumbs up, she releases a breath of relief. Seokmin, somehow, finds a way to press closer, to hinder Minghao from peeling away. “Soonyoung will take care of you,” Minghao says to her, finally dragging her eyes to meet Seokmin’s. Ah, it’s hard. “I’m sorry. Let me know how it goes later? Or, should I call Mingyu?”

It’s unfair, Minghao knows, considering she was the one to propose the idea and become the bridge between the two. But she also knows, the longer she lets Seokmin drape herself on her, the more stupid things she wants to do. If this gets her out of that sticky situation, then she’ll take self-preservation even if it means she has to bear the guilt. 

Seokmin probably wants to say _no, I want you to be here_ and knowing herself, Minghao would gladly cater to that, so she stands up before that can happen. There is a pull on her totebag, and it’s Seokmin, clutching at it as a last attempt of making Minghao stay. 

Despite the pout, Seokmin relents more readily than Minghao had thought. “I called my bassist friend. He’ll be here,” Seokmin explains, “but I’d wanted to introduce him to you, too. And now you’re leaving.”

This is something Seokmin somehow neglects to mention prior to this meeting. Minghao remembers clearly about the bassist player friend part, but never heard that he’s coming today. If she had been told about this earlier, maybe when she and Seokmin are still in their living room discussing about this with Soonyoung on the phone, Minghao would’ve outright rejected Joshua. (“Minghao, you’re my representative,” Seokmin had said. “No, I’m not.” “ _Yes, you are_ ,” Soonyoung quipped through the loudspeaker. “ _You’re acting like you are._ ” It’s annoying, because it’s true, and because Minghao doesn’t want to admit it’s true.) “I didn’t know, sorry,” Minghao says. “Next time.”

Jihoon’s gaze trails after Minghao as she walks out of the room, palpable but ignorable. Minghao doesn’t have the space to unpack that, yet, if ever. Though not long later, when she’s looking out the bus window leading her to the bar, Soonyoung’s text comes bearing a semblance of an answer. If it could be called one. _Jihoon asked if u & seokmin r dating_, Soonyoung says. _Ur crazy protective he said_. 

Minghao is not. Can’t be protective over something that’s not hers. 

_He doesn’t look like it_ , Minghao sends back, _but he sounds stupid_. She can imagine Soonyoung’s howl of laughter, that high-pitched, silly guffaw. 

What Minghao likes about Soonyoung is how uninvolved she is, to a certain degree, and she knows when to leave things be. Like now, too, as Minghao receives one last good luck text from her after the reply. Minghao pockets her phone, leans on the cool window, and softly sighs.

One afternoon after Minghao has to go to campus because one of her project partners majorly fucked something up with one of their potential sponsors, she is ready to jump into bed and take a fat nap as a reward. They can’t afford to be sloppy if they want to graduate, and the work division has been clear from the start. Minghao has firmly declared to not want to be involved in the gritty administrative part of their production, handling the creative aspects with any possibly needed adjustments, but she ends up taking care of people’s messes again. What is it in her that people see could be thoroughly trampled on, enough that she would do their jobs repeatedly for them, she doesn’t know. She’s irate.

Her mom would probably look at her silently seething with disapproval, her constant lecture about internalizing anger benefiting no one echoing inside her brain, but Minghao can’t recall how to manage it properly, can’t bother. 

Now aside from her mother’s teaching, a headache is also growing roots at the base of her skull. She wants to kick something, throw something, break something. She’s also too tired to do it. She settles on roughly wrenching open the door to her apartment. _Safe_ , her mind supplies, _comfortable_. It should be enough.

The smell of bread assaults her at once. It’s warm, but still unexpected, and Minghao is not in the best mood, so she drags her steps toward the source. 

“Minghao?” Seokmin’s tinny voice echoes inside the walls. Something smoothens in Minghao’s chest, and she drops her frown. 

“I’m here.”

Minghao slips into the narrow space of their kitchen, not before taking a peek at the clock and realizing how early it is for Seokmin to be home. Usually, she would pause, stand there and stare, because the light from the window at the end of the room is gorgeous on Seokmin. It draws a halo around her, as she peacefully sieves powdered sugar over a thick piece of bread. But before Minghao can do that, or even make a small comment about her observation, Seokmin is already sending her a disarming grin. 

“My bra is unclasped,” Seokmin says. “Can you help me out?” In that instant, Minghao’s mind empties, its previous occupants leaving without any trace. And while she stands there, immobile, Seokmin adds, “You can get under my shirt, if it’s hard. My shirt’s kind of thick.”

Honestly, Minghao hasn’t worn a bra for as long as she can remember, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t know the basic premise of it. Cursing herself for being a bumbling idiot all the while, Minghao makes her way behind Seokmin. 

Where her fingers meet skin, it’s as warm as the smell of fresh bread filling the air. Minghao’s brain is quiet, like it tends to get when she meditates, and if she draws out the simple process of reclasping her roommate’s bra just to stay in that moment for longer, it should be no one’s business but her own. She does admit to unnecessarily fixing Seokmin’s hair bun, though, if just to feel the smoothness of it under her hands. 

“You didn’t work today?” Minghao opens the conversation. She takes the spot next to Seokmin now, leaning against the counter so she can see Seokmin’s pinched, serious face. She is so cute. From where Minghao stands, her body is blocking some of the sunlight, but it still illuminates Seokmin’s eyes when she glances up at Minghao. 

“Clocked out early,” she answers. That’s fair, apparently not a rare occurrence, just rarely happens where Minghao catches her like this. “I felt a bit celebratory, so I thought why not, right?” 

Minghao only needs to raise an eyebrow before Seokmin launches into an explanation. “Well, uh, I have the band now.” Minghao straightens up. “We submitted our application, so, there’s that.”

No words can describe how much Minghao wants to hug Seokmin right now, but she can’t risk getting powdered sugar all over her, and though unsettled, she settles with a squeeze of Seokmin’s shoulder. “Wow, to think I was about to remind you about the deadline.”

Seokmin chuckles, eyes crinkling, looking unfairly gorgeous even with bits of flour? maybe some of the powdered sugar? dusted over her nose. “And now we wait to hear back from them,” she says. Minghao knows she’s nervous, but doesn’t know for which reason exactly. “We practiced a bit after you left, and it was pretty good, actually. I hope you regret ditching me that night.” A peek to see if Minghao’s reaction has transformed into something negative. It hasn’t. Minghao pulls the corner of her lips into a smile. “We got another practice scheduled already. Jihoon’s being super generous and lending the studio for free as long as there is no one else renting it for the day.”

“That’s good,” Minghao supplies. Whenever she gets excited, she doesn’t do it as expressively as Seokmin does, but she makes it a point to be as sincere as possible. How happy she is; that Seokmin is pursuing what she wants to do even in baby steps, that Seokmin is receiving so much abundance, that Seokmin is happy. “That’s actually really good. If I’d known I would’ve prepared something to celebrate.”

Now Seokmin moves onto cutting the bread into slices. It’s banana bread, Minghao assumes, from the scent and the pile of banana peels in their bin. 

“Save that for when we’re actually accepted, please,” Seokmin quips. She’s being serious, Minghao knows. “Oh, no preservatives.” Minghao looks down at the bread where Seokmin is pointing. She nods. “Let’s eat together? I’ll make tea for us, too. Go on, have a bite.”

While Seokmin is preparing the tea, Minghao moves the flat plate of the banana bread to their tiny dining table at the corner, right next to the plants-riddled windowsill. She heeds Seokmin’s words, rewarding herself a slice of the bread. 

“How is it?” Seokmin asks from somewhere behind her. 

It’s heavenly. With her mouth full: “So good, holy shit.”

Seokmin barks out a laugh, with her jarring loudness that Minghao wants to comfortably burrow into. She joins Minghao not long after, bearing two mismatched cups that must be filled with the promised tea.

The white streak of powdered sugar? flour? is still on the bridge of Seokmin’s nose. Minghao reaches out, wipes it away. Time and time again, Minghao has privately made comparisons between Seokmin’s smile and the sun, and this is one of those times.

In her rush to hide her own flushed face, Minghao burns her tongue on the tea. Seokmin giggles around a mouthful of banana bread at the disgusting face she must be making. Whatever it was that Minghao was upset about, she can’t think of it anymore, and honestly, this is more than enough.

The headache was a warning — a signifying start of something. Seokmin’s presence has brought reprieve, but when she is not around, Minghao is acutely aware of her being. 

Everything is heavy, now. She knows she can get up and out of bed fine, but her limbs are weirdly pinned onto her sheets, and her torso is weighed down by her comforter. Any other day, she’d find it cozy and delightful. Today, it’s stifling and she can’t breathe.

It’s probably been hours – half an hour, really – since Minghao got a call from her project partner. As usual, every Monday they’d ask her schedule for the week, to arrange the practice schedule with their cast. There is only less than two months until their production, and Minghao sincerely considers not graduating this year, and she is so tired of doing so many things at once, so tired of people’s expectations in her. (“ _You don’t know when you’ll be free yet?_ ” her partner had asked. “No. I’m still waiting for Soonyoung to send me this week’s schedule.” A sigh that’s not Minghao’s. “ _I wish you were the one managing this production,_ ” she said. Minghao knows, but in every sense of the word, she can’t. Her projectmate knows this, too. But Minghao still wants it written down, so no one will ever ask anything of her that is not within her ability anymore.)

Not to mention, she’s also actively ignoring the text her dad sent her. It’s never predictable what her parents are going to say to her, but it always requires some emotional strength to some degree. She is not dealing with another passive-aggressive text attached to a bank receipt of the transfer made to her account this early in the morning. Though it’s not morning anymore. Last she checked it was already 2 p.m. 

Minghao is also vaguely aware that the biweekly evaluation from her professor is just around the corner. The classes are coming to an end soon with a showcase of their own, and Minghao knows she’s expected to come but by then she will be too busy with her own production and practice. She is going to explode. 

And if this was any other day, she would have already been half a wine bottle deep. But Mingyu is not here to hold her back and being drunk enough to be dysfunctional by herself is not fun. Thinking of drinking reminds her of water, though, so she manages to feel for her water bottle and take greedy gulps of it, before dumping it somewhere to her right. 

That’s one thing, at least.

Seokmin is gone for the day, Minghao knows this, heard her coming in early in the morning and leaving again not much later. If she’s here, Minghao would at least be ashamed enough about staying locked inside her room for almost the entire day. She wishes she doesn’t hold other people accountable for reminding her to take care of herself nearly as much as she does. 

In the end, she gets too annoyed at the light from outside trying to break through her drawn curtains. Pushing herself off the sheets, grimacing at how sticky her entire body feels, she finally gets up to sit by the edge of her bed. 

Minghao stares as she wiggles her toes, exercising some grounding tips that her counselor gave her. She works her way upward, minding her breath all the while, making sure it’s not too fast or too slow. Enough for her to be aware of herself. 

After a few minutes of that, she feels more like a person, though unsure if she likes it or not. It succeeds in making her more functional, if anything. Usually, she’d make tea, but today starts as a coffee kind of day. Even if Minghao hates coffee, she’d rather get a cup of it before getting anywhere close to her inbox. 

It’s also one of those days Minghao does not want to try too much, so she takes a quick shower and stuff her head into a beanie, then leaves her room dark and messy. 

A warm cup of latte later, Minghao is scrolling through her phone, her emails first (her schedule from the studio and a document invite from her classmates) and texts (Mingyu ranting about something at work and Soonyoung asking her if she can confirm for today). 

Minghao replies to Soonyoung first, a reassuring yes even though she is perfectly aware that Soonyoung can handle things fine just by herself. And honestly, Minghao can afford skipping on instructing if only for a day. But she thinks back to her empty apartment and imagines wasting a whole day by herself, and would rather be miserable outside while being useful. 

Unexpectedly, there is a text from Seokmin. It’s a selfie of her grinning next to Soonyoung with Jihoon and a few other people Minghao can’t recognize. The picture is captioned with _wish u were here rn!!!_ and Minghao feels it in the narrow spaces of her chest cavity. 

_Me too_ _  
_ _When was that?_

Minghao waits for the reply, and finds that she doesn’t have to.

 _earlier! we finished an hour ago_ _  
_ _i’m back at work now_ 🥺💔

An innate desire to call Seokmin buds in her, to hear her voice, and it’s so sudden that she has to lock her phone before she really does it. Tamping down that weird urge, Minghao takes harsh gulps of her latte, focusing on its sobering scald on her tongue. 

“Minghao!” 

Minghao breaks her routine at the call of her name. In all bizarre scenarios she has ever imagined during insomniac nights, Seokmin breaking into the studio during a session never made the list. Yet, it’s exactly what is happening right now and she is left gaping with arms suspended in the air. Technically, they’re on break, but the students are all still here and if Seokmin’s appearance alone is not striking, then it’s her voice that seizes everyone’s attention. 

“Why only Minghao?” Soonyoung interjects, pouty. “I’m here, too.”

To appease her, Seokmin grins and pulls her into a hug. It looks warm. Minghao doesn’t think anything of it. Only notes that Seokmin and Soonyoung have gotten incredibly close in such a short time. 

Seokmin bounds up to Minghao next — who now has her arms lowered to her sides like a normal person, thankfully — with the same outstretched smile. Somehow despite how open her expression is, she is still unpredictable. “Wanna have lunch?”

Minghao glances in the mirror at the clock. “It’s 4PM?”

“And?”

Minghao steals a look at Soonyoung off to the side, receiving a bright smile and upturned shoulders. “There’s still half an hour of the class,” Minghao says, “if you wanna wait.”

Seokmin nods. “Okay. Can I hang here?”

“Of course!” Soonyoung answers for her. The self-satisfied tone leaks through her words. 

Soonyoung is confident in her skills, and doesn’t think twice about showing them to people, which is amazing for her — but Minghao has a lot to consider. She is here to assist Soonyoung, so of course she is not the spotlight. It does nothing to the knowledge that Seokmin knows Minghao and will be seeing her dance.

Admittedly, it’s hard to focus when Seokmin is just around the corner watching her. Minghao even gets the chance to assess Seokmin when Soonyoung is correcting someone’s posture. Seokmin is gorgeous, this is a known, objective fact, and she never fails to look good no matter what she wears. So even if today she’s in athleisure and her hair is slightly greasy, Minghao can’t help but think she is flawless. 

Half an hour has never felt that long or excruciating before. It’s a new feeling. Minghao loves dancing, would never turn down the chance to do it and would cry if it’s ripped away from her. But in the face of Seokmin’s expectation, she bids goodbye to everyone in the briefest way possible before clocking out with Seokmin pulled along by her arm. Evaluation be damned. Soonyoung won’t admonish her for anything.

They end up at a hole in the wall, tucked away between buildings. It’s only when the smell of food comes wafting that Minghao realizes how famished she is. Her measly lunch earlier already burned away during class. 

Seokmin orders crunchy noodles and a milkshake with _loooots of whipped cream, thank you!_ while Minghao chooses a zesty sandwich for herself.

What Minghao doesn’t take into account is the silence that ensues when they wait for their meals. Usually, conversations stream easy between them, and now they’re both quiet. 

“Do you have a shift tonight?” Seokmin starts. “At the bar?”

Awkward, knowing they both know Minghao always has shifts during weekends. But Minghao catches the bait anyway, as it’s better than nothing.

“Yeah, at seven.” She nods a little, the movement tapering into stillness. “When do you start? Has the bar called you, or something.”

Seokmin lights up at this, which in turn Minghao mirrors. “Oh! God, can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” she says, looking slightly scandalized. “We’re reserved for the weekday slots.”

Something deflates inside Minghao, and she chalks it up to the schedule not lining up with hers. She does notice the ‘we’, reminding her that Seokmin is performing with a band. 

“What were you doing at the studio, anyway?” Minghao asks.

“Practice,” Seokmin answers, a smile ever present on her face. The excitement might as well bubble over the brim, uncontained. “We’ve been meeting and practicing for a few days now.” 

The waiter comes over with their orders before Minghao can think of a reply. Its fragrance is hypnotizing enough that she knows Seokmin also already lost the thread of the conversation. 

They take no time to dig in, and it’s only after the third or fourth bite that Minghao speaks again. 

“How is practice coming along?”

For some reason, Minghao is compelled to think that singing is the only thing Seokmin has done for her enjoyment. She has never seen her genuinely this excited about anything going on in the office, no matter how well something went. Passionate looks good on Seokmin, and Minghao is more than a little bummed that she probably won’t get to watch her does the thing she loves the most. 

“Everyone is adjusting, but I’d like to think it’s going really well,” Seokmin answers around her mouthful. It’s gross and endearing. “Mingyu wants to see us practice sometime before our first performance.”

There is a hidden question there, _will you be there, too?_ clear as day. Which Minghao desperately wants to say yes to, but there are already stacks of other responsibilities she must answer to, heavy on her shoulders. 

So she shrugs, pretending it’s not hard to hold herself back from making a definite promise. “I’ll join you guys, if I can.” 

They part after the very, very late lunch, or very, very early dinner. Minghao does not stare as Seokmin makes her way back to the studio building, especially the way the hems of her crop top skims teasingly over her exposed spine and the way her legging stretches over the backs of her thighs. She does not. 

Later during her shift, though, she humors a persistent customer. They keep asking when her shift ends, and they’re attractive and polite enough that Minghao doesn’t mind. 

In a very weird, but not unexpected turn of events, Minghao accepts the stranger’s offer to go home with them. She might have treated herself to one of her own devil concoction, but she will only blame herself for the decision and not the alcohol distantly thrumming beneath her skin. 

Halfway through making out half-naked on their bed, Minghao pushes herself away from the warmth. She is still sitting on the stranger’s lap, so she can’t get exactly far. There is curiosity in their eyes, then understanding. 

“It’s okay if you want to stop,” they say, matter-of-factly. 

Minghao believes wholeheartedly that they don’t mind. Still, she makes another attempt to lean down and lave at the skin of their neck, only to picture the bob of Seokmin’s throat behind her lids. 

A hand comes up to rest on her back, between her shoulder blades. The palm is warm where it’s nestled upon Minghao’s skin. It starts moving up and down her bare skin, but bizarrely, the stranger repeats, “It’s really fine.”

They are very pretty, and very sweet, with a biting edge that Minghao normally finds sexy. Yet now she is barely aroused and completely unreactive to what they’ve been doing. 

Minghao knows better than to apologize, but now she’s left feeling awkward. “Do you want me to leave?”

They raise one perfect eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

Minghao considers this, considers that she will be coming home to her own cold and spacious bed. Finding that she doesn’t want to, she shakes her head. “We can make out,” she suggests. 

The very kind and very hot stranger indulges her, pulling her back into a kiss that she knows she will think of when she later gets herself off. They only drift off once their lips are kiss stung, red and puffy, and Minghao allows herself some satisfaction before she also slips into unconsciousness.

In the morning, Minghao is a little embarrassed and a lot glad that the stranger insisted on saving their number on her phone. It’s only then that Minghao learns their name, though to be fair, she suspects they don’t remember Minghao’s name as well.

“Just in case,” they say, handing Minghao her phone back. 

Once it’s in her hand, Minghao starts thumbing the rounded metal corner. “Sorry, I backed out last minute,” she says. It only makes sense to apologize once the sun is up in the sky, somehow.

They huff out a laugh, not unkindly. “You were so tense, it felt right.” Their eyes scan Minghao, up and down, peeling away the cloak of safety she wrapped around her. “Still are. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need help with that.”

Minghao does not usually blush, and this is one of the rare times she feels her whole head heat up. She excuses herself hurriedly and only has a few minutes to be disoriented when she realizes she has no idea what area she is in. 

Thankfully, she makes it home safe. What she never considered is that Seokmin would be up at 10 am on a Sunday. Which is exactly what she is doing when Minghao enters the living room.

Seokmin is slow to drag her eyes from the TV screen, perking up when she sees Minghao. “Hi!” she smiles. It’s so bright that Minghao has to look away. YouTube is on, and it’s playing a sourdough tutorial. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Minghao says. An impulse overtakes her, to walk up to Seokmin and plant a kiss on her cheek while playing with the hair bun hanging loosely low on the back of her head. Minghao tamps it down, feeling entirely illogical. She even has half the mind to sniff herself, like she’d reek of something that would reveal where she had been the whole night. 

“I want to try this recipe,” Seokmin says conversationally, pointing at the screen. 

“Okay,” Minghao says. “Let me take a shower.”

Minghao, as it turns out, to put it in the nicest way possible, is useless at baking. She is better at correcting someone’s isolation and blocking than helping Seokmin make the sourdough starter. Seokmin takes all of this in a stride and tells her it’s okay, still grinning even though she must’ve gotten irritated at this point. 

To absolve herself of her own guilt, Minghao stands at the ready to hand Seokmin whatever she might need. She is not fond of washing dishes, but she’s quick in cleaning the utensils Seokmin puts aside. It, somehow, extends to her cleaning the whole kitchen and the dining area except for Seokmin’s tiny baking spot. She ends up feeling kind of useful after that, so she counts it as a win. 

“Slathering salted butter all over it is a good way to eat,” Seokmin rambles while she unwraps the starter. “My favorite is putting runny eggs on top of it. Magical.”

Listening to it already makes Minghao’s belly churn, along with the razor-sharp ache of having not eaten anything yet. “When do you bake it, then?”

“Oh?” Seokmin circles the rim of the bowl with the tips of her fingers. “This has to sit for a week first.”

Minghao’s jaw unhinges. She swallows the _why bother_ threatening to spill from her lips. She doesn’t understand the fun of waiting so long for food that will be gone in, what, an hour once it’s served. 

Whatever difficult expression flashes through Minghao’s face, Seokmin finds it hilarious. “I’m starving,” she says, once the last of her laughs dissipates. “Should we order in?”

Minghao can honestly shout amen at that. 

It’s nothing grand, some stuff from the Chinese place on the ground floor of their building. It reminds Minghao of her mom’s cooking back home, though obviously not as good. She mentions this offhandedly to Seokmin, who clacks her mouth shut and stops chewing.

“I’d love to try it,” Seokmin says, “your mom’s cooking.”

The earnestness and thoughtfulness bring heat to Minghao’s eyes. She blinks it away. “I’ll let her know.”

Seokmin’s comment turns the mood slightly somber and quieter, but it’s not uncomfortable. At least, to Minghao it’s not, until Seokmin speaks again. “Do you miss home?”

Minghao chews slowly as she takes her time thinking about it. It’s not something she has spent much time pondering. “I miss the place, the people, my family,” she says carefully, “but here has also become my home.”

And it’s true, she can’t imagine living anywhere else, can’t imagine moving away. 

Seokmin nods, absently nibbling on her spoonful, while her eyes are far away looking through Minghao. It seems private, so Minghao looks away at her own paper container and does not pry. 

Throughout the following week, Minghao deals with the stinky sourdough starter. Seokmin herself is notably flustered and apologetic about it. She keeps making other things to cancel out the smell, but Minghao thinks she might just be stress baking due to the strain of juggling her day job and the singing job. Now they have too many baked goods in the apartment, and while Minghao doesn’t mind, she would like other things to eat without feeling guilty about not eating Seokmin’s food.

She starts bringing them to classes with Soonyoung and practices with the cast, and everyone falls in love. When she relays this to Seokmin, she shies away and won’t take the compliments. To not unintentionally chase Seokmin away, Minghao resorts to talking about something else, voice almost hushed in the safe corner that is their living room. 

During one of the rare evenings Minghao manages to catch Seokmin — their schedules really stopped aligning entirely — in the apartment, she is looking over a loaf of sourdough at the counter.

“Hi,” Minghao says, fiddling with the strap of her sling bag. It feels heavier than it should.

Seokmin looks happy to see her, she always does, but this time there is a tinge of glee, that Minghao can recognize in herself. Seeing each other after what feels like forever of never crossing each other’s paths. And they live in the same place.

“The bread just finished,” Seokmin announces. Minghao knows she belongs to the night, on good days she would even be presumptuous and think of herself as the moon, but it’s comfortable here under the sun. 

They migrate to the living room, wanting to have the TV as background noise. Seokmin has her legs tucked under her on the sofa, while Minghao behaves herself more properly. Though there is nothing wrong with Seokmin’s behavior. Minghao thinks she cannot be anything but perfect.

Their usual mindless chats make an appearance, and it’s comfortable and familiar, that it takes Minghao missing it so dearly to realize how much she appreciates mundane nights like these.

“How are things?” Minghao asks, before stuffing her mouth with sourdough slathered with butter. It’s insanely good, for a stinky bread. She loves it. 

Whatever Minghao’s face looks like must be entertaining to Seokmin, because she purses her lips to hold back her laughter, dimples on her mouth corners deepening. “Your cheeks are all full right now,” she says. “Hold that, I’m taking a picture.”

If it makes Seokmin this happy, Minghao really doesn’t mind. If this was anyone else, she would elbow them before she can swallow her mouthful.

“Okay, so anyways,” Seokmin continues, idly rotating her phone, “if you’re talking about work, nothing new. If it’s about the singing, then—it’s amazing.” Her eyebrows curve above her eyes, excitement spilling off every blink. “Minghao, honestly, I owe you everything for this. No, don’t say anything, you helped me a lot. Just, I thought I was gonna have a nervous breakdown before our first performance, but the crowd was really chill and I felt better pretty quick. Wish you could’ve come to see us.”

“Me, too,” Minghao says. “Sorry.”

Seokmin’s free hand snakes over to hold Minghao’s hand. “Don’t be. We have next time!” Elation is coming off Seokmin in waves, and Minghao can’t deny her that pleasure, so she indulges her. “I love the band, okay! Jihoon really ends up being the drummer, Soonyoung told you this surely—” Minghao nods. “Yes! The friend I wanted to introduce to you is my best friend, and he fills in for bass. His name is Jeonghan, by the way, can’t wait for you guys to meet. And honestly, it feels like I’ve been doing this with them for a long time? The guitarist, I’ll introduce her to you as well, is more experienced than any of us so I’m just eating up all the advice she can give.”

Minghao squeezes Seokmin’s hand, once she takes a breather and another bite of her sourdough. “I’m glad, Seokmin.” She really means it.

“What about you?” Seokmin asks. It sounds more like _whah bou you?_ through her chewing.

It takes Minghao a few moments to consider. She has been constantly on the go these days, her mind and body going _do do do_ and forgetting the most essential part that her parents always tried to plant in her. _Your soul is alive, too, tend to it well_. 

“Busy, overwhelming. Everything is… everything.” Minghao has never felt this inarticulate before. There is no judgement from Seokmin, thankfully. “Today is the only day I can come home and sit down like this, instead of crashing directly on the bed.”

Seokmin shifts closer, bringing warmth with her. “That’s not a way to live,” she says, bringing up her hand to brush away Minghao’s bangs. “You should also be eating well. Resting well. I barely see you draw or paint or whatever you usually do anymore.”

Minghao gets embarrassed, sure, but she is not shy. So why is it, this softness Seokmin imbues her with, makes her want to burrow deeper into the sofa? Perhaps to seep through the cracks and live inside with the springs and the foam. 

“I eat,” she argues, because it’s true. “Regularly, too. I’m okay, just tired.”

“It still doesn’t feel right letting you go around without any food on you.”

“Takeouts are a thing that exists, Seokmin,” Minghao presses on, tugging at Seokmin’s hands in her exasperation. “People around me also really do not like letting each other’s stomach be empty.”

Suspicion recedes into a tiny bit of apprehension in Seokmin’s demeanor. She still doesn’t seem satisfied, but Minghao can’t find a solution that will appease her. Minghao doesn’t need to, as Seokmin takes it upon herself to snuggle closer and wrap an arm around her. 

It’s the warmest thing Minghao has ever indulged herself in. Even when she is dripping with sweat from the exertion of practicing and instructing and choreographing, it cannot be compared to the likes of this. Her dance is her passion and it burns the same way it fuels her, but she is so used to it, that she forgets that this crackle of warmth is also comfortable.

She allows herself a sloppy second to smile at the air, before teasingly asking, “What’s this for?”

Seokmin sighs with a visible deflation of her shoulders, somehow finding a way to unintentionally press closer on Minghao. Before Minghao can do something stupid, like getting comfortable and placing her head on Seokmin’s shoulder, Seokmin pulls away. 

“I worry about you,” she says. Her hand is still squeezing Minghao’s bicep. “Unlike me. I mean, I have family here and friends who look out for me, but you’re alone here.”

“I have friends who look out for me, too,” Minghao interjects. “There are Mingyu and Junhui. I have Soonyoung. I also have you.”

This makes Seokmin bashful, because apparently, “Not me, not really. I am not one to look out for other people. But I’m glad you like me.” She turns redder when Minghao laughs, when really, she is only laughing to not acknowledge how close to truth it is. “I mean. That you consider me as a close friend as you do Mingyu and Soonyoung. Thank you.”

Out of impulse, Minghao lifts a hand to cup Seokmin’s face. She takes her time to consider her words, which is slightly difficult with Seokmin being so close. She manages, though. “Of course you’re a close friend,” she says, reluctantly lowering her hand. It curls into a fist to dispel the cold. “It might not look like it, but I do have precious people in my life. I guess, it never comes to me to really showing or telling, as long as I know that I have it.”

The doubt in Seokmin’s eyes vanishes completely, then, if not still a little sad. That lingering sadness hops on Minghao, too, when Seokmin withdraws and leans back on her side of the couch. They are quieter now, but it’s the calm after things have settled, which for Minghao is the best kind.

Not long, they’re back to their own plates of sourdough. Knowing that this is going to be the last time in a long while until she gets to have this again, Minghao savors the clinking of cutlery, feeling the most at peace she has ever been. 

Crying is a rarity for Minghao, though the urge makes an appearance often. This is one of those times. 

She is strained beyond belief, more than she has ever done so before, and she’s very close to quitting her bartending job. Even Soonyoung is being understanding about it, slackening Minghao’s schedule even when it means the workload will be heavier on her. Minghao is grateful and sets a reminder on her phone to ask Soonyoung if she wants anything later. 

Again, her project partners are being incapable at their jobs. She’s perfectly aware that they are not stupid by any means, but they sure act like it. When Minghao isn’t around, they will pretend to forget about the project altogether. It’s only when she checks in for updates regarding the event itself, that they scramble to finish their tasks. There are several reasons why Minghao took a step back from managing things and chose directing, but the number is quickly dwindling. 

Her solution to this: bring them back to her apartment and hole up in there until they get ahead of their expected progress. 

They are almost one week in, and Minghao pats herself in the back. It’s proven to be working, because now they are starting to feel more relaxed after packing nearly 1.5 months work into one week. She’d taken a few days off at the bar, which means more work being done on the weekend, and she’s not even bitter about it. Or tries to. She even gave up her own bed just so her partners can be in their optimal conditions come morning. 

This is how Seokmin finds her in the living room, already half-reclining on the couch. It’s late, the usual time Minghao gets home from her bartending shift. Must be a singing night, then, since it’s a weeknight.

“What are you doing?” Seokmin asks, halting in the middle of the room.

Minghao eyes the body hugging dress Seokmin is wearing, absently wondering if that’s the usual get-up for her performances. 

“My friends are here.”

The look Seokmin gives her is badly concealed, but Minghao knows what she’s trying to say. _Are they really your friends?_ And if Minghao is being honest, she is not sure. They are just people in her class who she deems tolerable and bright, and found them suitable to have her final project with. 

“Just sleep in my room, damn, Minghao.”

And so she does. While waiting for Seokmin to finish cleaning up, Minghao lies stiff on the bed. Seokmin’s bed. And her head is split between pondering about why she hasn’t bumped into Seokmin like this when she’s been sleeping on the couch for almost a week, and how Seokmin’s pillowcase smells so strongly of her shampoo. Minghao is going insane. 

Instead of tensing up even more, Minghao feels her muscles loosening when Seokmin slides in the space next to her. “Oh,” she remembers suddenly, “is this okay? Do you have your side of the bed?”

Seokmin giggles, and very unnecessarily, snuggles up against Minghao. “This is fine, Minghao.”

Fighting against the pressing need to lift an arm and let Seokmin nestle under it is taxing, but if Minghao has nothing left in the world except for one thing, it’s willpower. The past couple of days have taken its toll on her, instructing different groups of people at the studio during the day and coming home to another yet of her project partners in a deadlock during the night, it’s so easy for her heavy eyelids to lower. This particular warmth that Seokmin radiates, coaxes her further into sleep.

Before she goes out entirely, Minghao—thinks, at least—says, “Where have you been?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the endawn mods for being helpful and patient and making this fest happen! thank YOU guys for reading the first half of these lesbians' journey!!! the second half is in the middle of writing process but it will be up soon 
> 
> while u wait for the next chapter please check [this carrd](https://currentintissues.carrd.co/) out to access the links for updates on current events in the world. dont forget to use ur voice however u can to make change, especially from the closest & most accessible to you -- your family and friends, your municipalities, your mayor office. blm is not a week-long trend, as proven by the protests still happening across the states. dont stop amplifying black voices on social media, donate if you can to orgs and black individuals who need funds the most (esp black trans women and disabled black people). information is already provided for us, the least we can do is use it to our best abilities and push for justice to be served
> 
> here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/plutoruled) if u want to chat & my [kofi](https://ko-fi.com/moonpluto) if u would like to support me :]


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